All That Jazz
by The Wammy Girl
Summary: Matt and Naomi are partners in a business... slightly outside the law. Sorry, but it's NOT SLASH! Also, AU. T for the second part's violence/sexy stuff.
1. What If

_**A/N: **_So.... I had a good idea! Okay, maybe it wasn't so much a good idea as the fact that I forgot Mattikin's birthday (Mail Jeeves/ Matt, for those who don't speak English Fangirlese) The conversation I had with my computer went something like this:

Me: I wonder when my next birthday fic is... -looks at Death Note Birthday Calendar- But... today's the 5th... Matt's birthday was on the... NOOOOOOOO!!!! *Luke Skywalker pose*

Later:

-Deep Breathing- Okay. I can fix this, I can fix this... let's see, Naomi's is on the 11th. Why don't I write a story with both of them! But then they might think I love Matt less... whatever! Naomi's pretty, Matt won't mind. (Matt + Naomi's Rather Large Breasts= Happy Matt!)

So, I'm sorry to all of you who worship Matt. (Bad Fangirl! -slams head on desk- BAD Fangirl! -slams head on desk-) But, for the record, he is in a **lot** of my stories. Also, it's an AU.

Anyways, sorry for the long Author's Notes. And I'm publishing on the 6th because that's the middle point between their birthdays. Enjoy!

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A large glob of mud, glue, leaves, and assorted legos flew through the air, eclipsing the sun for a brief moment before gracefully landing on Naomi Misora's head.

"Ew." she said simply as she brushed it out of her hair. At this point in time, she was 11 years, 11 months, 23 hours, 59 minutes and 0 seconds old. In other words, she was spending her birthday at the "Brat House" as she had dubbed it. You, being the inquisitive reader you are, might wonder why a perfectly respectable, nearly 12 year-old girl would choose to do this. But, you don't know all the facts.

For example, Naomi Misora, at this point in time, was not respectable in the least. Well, maybe a little. If, that is, you respect the ability to con a rude old man out of his money by posing as a girl scout, victim of a car crash, boy scout, and many other different people, all in one day. I'd have to admit that I, your anonymous narrator, am impressed by this.

'Wait!' someone says in protest, 'This still doesn't explain where she is or why she's there! Apart from her, this story isn't even Death Note related!' As that someone rants on about whatever, they probably won't hear their ever-so-precious explanation. Namely: community service.

Assigned to a nearby orphanage, she was sentenced to work with children her age for four months. Every day, after school, her mother would drop hr off at the Home For Hope (a rather cheesy title, in her opinion).

The large, disgusting mixture of mud, glue, leaves, and assorted legos was a special birthday gift from some boys about her age.

It is now 2005, Naomi Misora is now 29 years of age, and Naomi Misora now loathes anything to do with orphanages. There are three exceptions to this hate: The Detective L, His Helper Watari, and Matt.

Once Upon A Time: she had worked with the FBI, her fiancé was murdered by Kira, Kira was caught, she worked with L, she met Mello, Matt, and Near, she started doing some work outside of work, Matt got in on the same illegitimate business, they became partners, she stayed with the FBI (though her second job payed better), and made her way to the present day.

She sighed in the summer heat, stuck in her apartment on a Saturday afternoon. Idly flipping through an outdated fashion magazine she got as a free trial last month, one ad caught her eye.

"Quick And Cheap Weddings!

Screw romantic! You want the benefits and bliss of marriage now! A better, less costly marriage for the lower-middle class!"

She sighed and thought of Raye, a million woulda-coulda-shoulda's and what-if's flooding her mind. If only...

Suddenly, an unexpected knocking on the door jolted her from her sad yet dreamy reverie. Snatching up a small electronic fan, she slouched over to the door, swinging it open with her eyes half shut.

"Yeah?" she mumbled, barely awake.

"Well babe, not that I'm complaining, but lingerie isn't exactly appropriate for strolling the streets."

Naomi's eyes snapped open. _Matt?!_ Once she managed to move her head up, she found the redhead grinning at her like a madman. "Not that _I'm_ an expert on fashion or anything..." he finished, winking.

She gaped and mumbled something about getting some clothes, holding the door open for him. She quickly ran off, leaving Matt to explore the near-empty apartment.

He trailed his finger over an empty mantle, which was mounted above a dormant heater. It was covered in dust, except fora sot where a single picture frame had sat. _Probably of Raye..._ Matt thought, _I'm glad she took those down, it wasn't healthy. _He laughed out loud at this last part. Like he was to judge healthy.

"What's so funny?" Naomi asked, flipping her hair out from under her black tee.

"Ah, nothing." Matt replied, not wanting to bring up Raye. So he decided to change the subject, "Do you have anything that's not black or leather?"

"Yeah, I think I have a summer dress or something... but I haven't worn it for a while." Naomi replied, completely serious.

"Oh." Matt said in response. He knew a few things about Naomi by now; if she said she hadn't done something in a while, it meant she hadn't since Raye.

Naomi managed to remember the reason she had to put on clothes to begin with, "So, Matt, why're you here on this so very, very, uncomfortably hot day?"

"Oh, yeah," Matt recovered, "We have a concert today."

"Ah," Naomi replied, "Violin or saxophone?"

"Well," he said, "We're getting payed extra since they want us to give a saxophone concert first, followed by a violin recital. And they're offering a bonus if we finish up with a piano concerto."

"Eh, unless you want to play the piano. I haven't practiced in months."

Now, to you, this may seem boring. But, in reality, neither of them played any musical instruments. Rather, they were discussing the previously mentioned "illegitimate business" that no one else knew of. Not L (though he suspected something), not Naomi's coworkers, not even Mello (who also was suspicious).

That Night...

Naomi clicked her alarm off a minute before it was to go off, 9:00 pm. Shortly after Matt left, she had gathered a few things and gone to bed.

"_Saturday... Ten O'- Clock... Lotsa people... Out tonight..._" Naomi sang, making up the words as she went along. She slipped into her sexiest lingerie (being attractive held it's usefulness in distraction), and over that she wore a low-cut black shirt and a flowing black skirt. She tossed on a pair of flats, and then began to stock her grey tote bag.

Later...

Naomi slid around the back of La Ragazza Graziosa, parking her bike and dismounting as Matt's car pulled up beside her.

"Ready?" he asked, getting out.

"Yeah." she replied, taking a deep breath.

"Nervous?" he inquired

"...Yeah." she admitted.

"But you're ready?" Matt reiterated, tilting his head.

"Yes. Let's go." Naomi said, placing a small pistol in her garter.

"Whatever you say..." Matt said, following her into the bar.

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_**A/N: **_I hate to be a fanfic tease... but the second half is coming on Naomi's birthday, the 11th. Hey, at least I don't demand a certain number of reviews before I'll continue. Ugh, those people really annoy me...

So, if you're mad and want to flame me for this, I'm cool with that. I only had a day to write this, so I consider it a success. Either way, it gets better from here.


	2. Fake Prostitute of Revenge

_**A/N:**_ First of all, I wrote this on Thursday night (I'm a procrastinator, always will be), so I was debating on whether to actually publish it on time. But! I got a review. Venlolli, out of the 12 readers, you reviewed. Thank you! And yes, I like trying something a little bit different. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, it belongs to Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata. Also, I don't own the song Chromaggia, it belongs to Darren Smith, Terrance Zdunich, and everyone who worked on Repo! The Genetic Opera. It is a fantastic movie and I'm absolutely in love with the soundtrack, I highly recommend listening to that song this chapter.

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La Ragazza Graziosa: Bar, club. Hangout to the toughest bikers, skimpiest bimbos, and that guy who's still a virgin at 46. Owner and proprietor: Otto Flynn, the single most corrupt man in the city of Los Angeles. And, as luck would have it, also a prizewinning pimp. Said pimp business had lured in one Carlotta Bianchi, the daughter of Romano Bianchi. Romano Bianchi was the prominent leader of the Backalley Business, the business that had brought Matt and Naomi to La Ragazza Graziosa.

Naomi Misora pushed the door open, stepping into the pulsing music and flashing lights. A song she had heard somewhere on the radio, but she didn't know...

Glancing around, she surveyed her surroundings. The bar seemed to be fairly evenly split: the right side populated by pimps and their charges, the left by lonely singles and booze.

She and Matt found a table on the left side; and while Matt went to get a few shots of gin and tonic, Naomi scanned the bar slowly. Up on the stage, the spotlights had dimmed up, and a new song was playing.

A figure stood, clearly female, there. The lights dimmed up a bit more, and she was clearly visible. She was of average height, and her long blonde curls fell to her waist with small blue ribbons braided in every so often. Her eyes were blue, and she wore little makeup, just a little light blue eyeshadow. The beautiful violin tune stretched across the room, slicing through the drunken laughter and shouting.

Matt walked back to the table, "Hey, Naomi-" he started, but she held up one finger to silence him. He sat down and followed her gaze to the stage. "Whoa." he uttered.

Then, the girl began to sing. "Tanto... tempo fa, un uccello fatale di nome Chromaggia..." her voice faded out, and the lights darkened on her stage, as the stage next to it lit up in a deep beat and girls in things that hardly qualified as clothes.

Naomi sighed and turned to the table. "Such a shame..." she said to Matt, "She had a nice voice..."

"I'm sure she'll be... just... fine..." Matt said, his eyes fixed on the strippers.

Naomi tipped back her first shot of the night, she needed a little dulling.

A few hour and more than a few shots later, Naomi and Matt stood and headed toward the right half of the club.

Long hands reached out from the crowd, tucking slips of paper into any pocket Matt had on his clothes, even some in his goggles' straps. He smiled and winked at a few, but when he turned around, he crumpled the numbers and threw them on the floor.

Naomi pulled him to the side of the walkway, hiding near a group of giggling brunettes.

"That's our man..." she said, staring out the corner of her eye. Otto Flynn was dressed in a long black cape, with a grey fedora balanced on his black, slicked-back hair. But even all his expensive clothes couldn't hide the fact that he was downright fat. He was talking with one of his clients, negotiating, it seemed.

"Fine!" he exclaimed rather loudly, "$125 it is..." He pocketed the cash, turning to get another shot from a blonde standing by with his tray.

Matt, by now, had removed his jacket and his goggles, messed up his hair, and put out his cigarette. "Pimpin' enough for ya?" he asked Naomi, striking a pimp-like pose.

"Sure, why not?" Naomi replied sarcastically.

"Hey! Otto!" Matt said, already walking over to the soon to be dead man.

"Hey..." Otto said, slurring his speech slightly, "I know you?"

"Seriously?!" Matt said, exaggerating. "I was the guy with all the Asians last year. Remember? We blew through here, big success..."

"Oh, yeah..." Otto said, recalling the fake memory and taking another shot. "Want one?" he said, gesturing toward his drink holder.

"No thanks..." Matt said, " I can buy my own. By the way..."

He then pulled Naomi over to him. "I was thinking of setting up here again."

Otto let out a drunken bellow. "Of course, of course..." he said, slinging a large arm over Matt. "Come over here... Lemme show ya somethin'..."

As Otto described the art of bargaining with clients whilst outlining the frame of his best girl (with one eyes shut), Naomi sauntered over to the girl holding his drinks.

"Here, let me take that," Naomi said with an over-exaggerated accent, "My man asked me to..."

"But... Otto said..." the woman started.

Naomi slipped a twenty out of her bra, "I'm sure he won't mind..." she said, taking the tray.

As the blonde hurried off, Naomi slipped a small vial of tranq out of her tote and into one of the shots.

Stepping up to the pimp and fake pimp, she said "Sir? Your drink." offering the shot to Otto. Hardly glancing at his server, he took the drink and threw it back in one motion. Naomi smiled despite herself.

"Oh, and..." Matt said, letting the words hang in the air, "I have a small gift; if ya know what I mean..."

Matt winked and began steering the pimp to a back room. Otto merely laughed in retaliation, expecting a nest of Asian beauties waiting for him. However, as Matt dropped him off in the room, he saw only one.

"Hey..." he said drunkenly, swaying where he stood, "You're..." When Naomi didn't answer, he continued, "Well, don't matter who you are... you'll be gone by the morning anyway." He paused, holding up his hands in mock defense, "Now, I'm not the most romantic guy, but I think you know why you're here..."

Naomi took a deep breathe, jobs like this always made her uncomfortable. Here, she wasn't herself; she wanted to pull her gun out and go on a shooting spree, not caring where the bullets landed. But she had a job. A job... Her job. Her job.

"Yeah," she said aloud, "I'm here to do my job." Walking over to Otto, he said "Aww, baby, that's just what I love ta he-"

Naomi smirked at the look on his face as she thumbed the hammer. Placing the gun against his sweaty temple, she laughed bitterly. Then she pulled the trigger, a loud _Bang! _resounding only slightly. Otto slumped to the floor, a slight amount of blood dripping form where the bullet had entered.

Tucking her pistol back into her garter, Naomi slid her gloved hand over the doorknob. Glancing back one last time, she threw the door open and ran to the crowds.

Swinging her hair around so no one could get a clear look at her face, she screamed. "It's Mr. Flynn! He's dead!! He's been shot!" she screeched in her fake accent, pointing back towards the room.

As everyone ran back to see if this was truth or lies, Matt fell into Naomi's stride.

"I thought you said no piano?" he questioned, one eyebrow cocked.

"Changed my mind... he was a bastard." Naomi replied with a slight laugh in her voice.

Matt chuckled as they stepped outside.

"Here," Naomi said, handing Matt her pistol, "Take care of this till next time?"

"Of course, my lady..." matt said, tipping an imaginary top hat.

Naomi laughed for a second, climbing onto her motorcycle. Holding up a hand as way of goodbye, she sped off.

Matt chuckled again, putting the gun in the passenger seat through the open window. Walking around the car, a voice made him freeze.

"Nice job, Matt." the icy, oh-so-familiar, voice said from the shadows.

"Of course, working with a babe like that, who wouldn't be motivated?" Mello asked, stepping from the shadows.

"Now, Matt," Mello leaned against the car, "Why don't you tell me what's **really **going on."

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_**A/N: **_ . I'm sorry! I didn't think this is how I'd end it! (laughs) Looks like I'm continuing it, huh? Well, no matter, I got a three day weekend...


End file.
